Hello
by traveling-imagination
Summary: How many messages had he left during the first month? Hundreds? Thousands? All starting the same. "Hello, just calling to…." Sanji may not be taking some things too well. Caution: strong language. A fic for yuushishio. Based on Adele's song "Hello"


It was just a hunk of plastic and wires. Totally inanimate and devoid of action. So why did he feel like it was going to jump up and bite him? Sanji had been staring at his phone for a good hour, debating and arguing and convincing himself why he should and shouldn't pick it up and dial.

"He would be awake," the blond mumbled around his cigarette.

 _No._ He suddenly stubbed the cancer stick into his overloaded ashtray. _No, I am not going to do this again!_

How many messages had he left during the first month? Hundreds? Thousands? All starting the same.

"Hello, just calling to…."

"Hello, you left your…"

"Hello, you're a bastard…"

None of his voicemails were ever answered, Sanji didn't even know if that stupid, annoying, idiotic…. If _he_ had received them.

The blond stood up rather quickly and strode into his kitchen. Cooking would stop him from leaving another pointless message to that ungrateful…

XXXXXXXX

"What the hell are you doing?" the cook barked, staring aghast at his boyfriend in the kitchen.

"What's it look like I'm doing, curly?" the green haired lunatic grunted.

"Well, stop!" the cook practically screamed. Swiftly twisting on the ball of his foot, Sanji kicked Zoro right in the hip, catapulting the moss head away from the stove.

"Fuck, shit cook, what the hell!?" the man yelled back, massaging his soar side and glaring bloody murder at the blond.

"Don't touch my kitchen!" the cook said darkly as he turned to see what damage Zoro had done to his precious territory.

Luckily, there was no smoke or signs of burning. Although the counter was a bit messy with vegetables, and the cutting board hadn't been wiped off properly. His treasured chef knives had been used, but they didn't look damaged…

"I was just…" Zoro grumbled from behind him.

"Just what?" he snapped, a bit more venom leaking into his voice than he had meant to.

The tanned swordsman recoiled slightly, a glare falling over his face like a mask. "It wasn't even that bad," he huffed eventually, meaning the mess.

"It is still _my_ kitchen, _my_ property, _my_ use!"

"FINE!" Zoro suddenly roared, making Sanji jump. "I don't even know why I bothered, you fucking romantic sap. At least I was trying!" Not even waiting for a response, he was gone; grabbing his jacket and slamming the door.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean, baka marimo?" Sanji yelled after him, knowing he wasn't listening.

Cussing and grumbling, the cook turned back to the pan on the stove. It was a simple stir fry with grilled fish, water chestnuts and some other choice vegetables. "What the fuck, marimo?" he whispered to himself again.

XXXXXXXXX

Sanji blinked as he cleared his mind of that memory, his blue eyes now staring down at that exact same dish. He hadn't even meant to make it, his hands had just moved on their own accord. The cook sighed, that argument hadn't been their first, hell they had fought all the time, but that one yelling match had been the initiating incident to the whole derailment that had followed.

The blond suddenly froze, his hands had been reaching for a second plate to dish up the meal. Fuck, he needed to get over this, to forget the whole thing.

Zoro was gone. He had left. _And good riddance!_ A part of him added. But his chest ached at the thought, he chalked it up to his smoking habit.

Leaning against the counter, Sanji brought a forkful of stir fry to his lips and started eating.

XXXXXXXXX

"Should I even ask?"

Zoro glared up from under his rain soaked hoody, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and mud caking his shoes like a thick icing. A bruise was forming on his jaw, but it didn't look to serious.

"I guess that answers my question?" Sanji smirked, stepping aside and letting the bedraggled marimo into his apartment.

After the green haired man had had a shower and was given some dry clothing, the two young men sat quietly on the couch watching some crime show.

"Why did you come here?" Sanji asked after a while. "Why not Luffy's or Usopp's?"

"Because I thought I wouldn't get asked questions here," the other man huffed in annoyance, giving the cook a pointed glare.

"Alright, alright. I yield," Sanji said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Forgive me a mysterious moss ball," he added sarcastically with a leer.

The green haired man growled menacingly. But the effect was more of less ruined by the fact that the man's stomach gave its own rumbling growl. The swordsman looked away, in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

"Can I ask one question though?" Sanji leaned closer to the other man. He simply got a glare in return. "Are you hungry?"

Zoro actually looked a bit surprised at that, but eventually he nodded.

"Well then, you came to the right place," the cook grinned as he got up and headed to the kitchen, "anything in particular to please your god forsaken palate?"

"Watch it, curly," the swordsman growled, but he followed Sanji into the kitchen anyway.

"I'll make a stir fry," Sanji said more to himself than his _guest._ "It's quick and…"

"…Fish?"

"Huh?" the blond glanced over his shoulder in confusion. "Watchya say, marimo?"

"Can you make stir fry with fish?"

Sanji hesitated for a moment, was Zoro actually asking for a preference? The green head was always so private and closed.

"If you want," he said after a pause. "I've never tried making stir fry like that, can't promise how it will turn out."

"It'll be fine," Zoro's voice was hardly a murmur. "Your cooking always is."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Shit," Sanji ground out between his teeth as he put his plate down. "Shit, no… Fucking SHIT!"

The first meal Zoro and he had had alone together. Pretty much the night that had started the shift in their relationship from just friends to… more. Was that what Zoro had been trying to do the night of their fight?

 _Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit_

Sanji bolted out of the kitchen and vaulted the couch in order to get to his phone. He didn't even need to look at his contact list, he simply dialed the number from memory.

His heart was beating painfully in his throat and his one hand kept gripping his blond strands. The ringing of the phone was sharp on his eardrums. Sanji prayed for the first time, that he would pick up; hoped that this one time he wouldn't be redirected to voicemail.

" _I'm not here, leave a message."_

The cook felt like sobbing as the telltale beep echoed in his head.

"Hello," he started automatically.

Fuck, what was he going to do now?

"I… um… well you see…" _shit, what the hell am I doing?_

"How are you?" _Ok, cook, that is the lamest of all lame you can get!_

"Fuck, I mean…" Sanji sighed.

"Zoro," he began again. "I know you probably don't want to hear this, but…"

Here goes nothing.

"I'm sorry."

Sanji's shoulders slumped and all his frustrations and barriers just seemed to crumble.

"All that stuff we did, all those fights. I'm sorry that they happened. I know it's too late, but I realised now how hard you were trying to tell me…" he faltered, he just couldn't say it. "I should have tried to understand how hard it was for you, I mean, you had never really been with anyone before… us. You sword obsessed idiot," he added. "And besides, you were more of an 'actions speak louder than words' guy. Fuck, I didn't even…" Sanji dropped his head into his free hand in defeat.

"I've tried to call you a lot. I've probably broken your voice mail with all those messages. Guess that shows what a big wreck I am…" Sanji hopped to God his eyes were only stinging from fatigue. "But you haven't even tried to call." He paused there, his throat was soar.

"I don't think I'm over it all, Zoro," he finally admitted, and finally let the tears fall. "I know that I did a lot of crappy shit when we were together, but shit… my heart hurts."

He clutched at the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric and doubling over his knees. He was hurting so much.

"Marimo…" he sobbed out. "Zoro… I think I… I'm still…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hundreds of miles away, Roronoa Zoro sat in a tiny ass apartment staring at his phone. A voice was floating out of the speakers, filling the small space. The stupid blond was talking to him, well, not really _to_ him. He was leaving a voice mail. The cook had no idea that the swordsman was listening as it was recorded.

"Marimo… Zoro… I think I… I'm still…"

There was a moment of silence. Both men waiting for each other to speak, knowing no one would answer.

"I'm still not over you."

Zoro heard Sanji inhale quickly, as if collecting himself, then there was a click and the cook was gone. With a small whine, the usually stoic man clutched at his chest and curled over his phone. He begged his tears not to fall.

"Me neither," he whispered to the dark. Even more quietly, as if scared that he would hear himself, Zoro whispered out one final word as if it were a plea to the heavens. "Sanji."


End file.
